


Ritual (2): Used

by mystery_sock (terebi_me)



Series: Ritual [2]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Heroes: Volume 1, Incest, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, M/M, Non-Chronological, Petrellicest, Pre-Season/Series 01, Ritual, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Topping from the Bottom, the wrongest love story, they've got problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-01 08:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18332255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/pseuds/mystery_sock
Summary: The morning after, Nathan makes good on his threat (or was it a promise?) from the night before.





	Ritual (2): Used

**Author's Note:**

> [original note] More angsty, sexy, twisted sibling dynamics courtesy of the brothers Petrelli. Things get a little weird, but mostly it makes sense, at least to them.

The ritual is never the same, and always the same. One goes into the fire, and the other drags him back, only to rush toward it himself. The balance of unbalance, the beauty of syncopation; somebody always has the upper hand. 

 

Peter woke up alone in the guest room bed.

When he had fallen asleep last night, Nathan was still there, draped over him like a heavy, smooth, hot blanket, stroking Peter's hair with his thumb in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm that sunk Peter into a deep slumber. He always slept so well when Nathan was there.

But now he was alone, and Nathan had been gone for ages, probably all night. Peter got out of bed, and rooting around in the closet for a bathrobe (he always forgot his), he shook off the sad, annoyed feeling and reminded himself what the deal was.

What had he come here for last night, anyway? To play with Nathan, to comfort Nathan, to help him work out whatever psychological dilemma he was currently facing that couldn't be expressed in words, at least, not at first. Sometimes, not even then. Sometimes, all Nathan needed was the kind of sexual experience that only he and Peter could share; Nathan would never let anybody else do what Peter did. Nathan could never trust anyone else that much.

Whatever Nathan had needed yesterday, he'd obviously gotten from the fuck, from watching Peter fall asleep. When he got it, he was done. Peter knew by now not to take it personally.

It wasn't like he wasn't familiar with the sensation of being used. It's what family was about, what trust was about. He was happy to be used, and he used Nathan twice as hard, and he knew that Nathan was also happy about that. He loved knowing that Peter needed him. Nathan had even told him so, explicitly, trying to make it sound like he was complaining.

And it was fine to wake up alone. Just fine.

He didn't really need to take a shower, as he'd had one last night between the sex and the scotch, but still hadn't shaved, and it had officially started to bug him. He had brushed his teeth and started shaving when Nathan came and stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his skin still slightly sweat-damp from his usual two-mile run. "Morning," he said, ultra-casually.

"Hey," Peter replied to Nathan's steamy reflection in the mirror.

Nathan just stood there, not saying anything, watching Peter shaving. The silence was smothering.

Peter broke first, of course. "Sleep in your own bed last night?" he asked abruptly, grimacing as he drew the razor underneath his nose in an attempt to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"Yeah. You toss and turn too much." A practiced answer. Practicing for politics. He was great at it. It took Peter, or their parents, to see through the smokescreen.

"I want to make us some coffee," Peter muttered, wiping the last traces of balm off his face with a damp towel, and shouldered past Nathan out of the bathroom, without looking at his brother. "You're not allowed to make coffee anymore; you suck at it."

"Fine," said Nathan, amusement lilting in his voice.

Down in the massive kitchen, Peter scowled over the espresso machine while Nathan watched with a loving smile that Peter refused to acknowledge. "My brother, the barista," Nathan mused.

"Yeah, I've pulled some shots in my life. There's no shame in that. Especially not for an Italian." Peter swung around with a demitasse cup and handed it to Nathan. "There. The crema on that one's better."

Nathan took the cup, sipped from it, and set it down on the counter. Peter prepared another espresso shot while he was still drinking the first one, to keep his back to Nathan. "Hey," Nathan said. "Got a question for you."

"Okay."

"Do you want to get fucked today?"

For the first time all morning, Peter met Nathan's eyes. Peter wasn't exactly pouting; his face was too hard, too closed for that to be the case. He did look furiously pissed off, though, at least at first, but also surprised, then softening and thoughtful. "Well..." he said slowly.

"I mean, if you don't want to, we won't."

Peter said, trying to maintain his annoyance, "Well, if you want to, then we're going to."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you want. I'm asking. And don't be passive-aggressive about it; I want to know what you want." Nathan finished his espresso, licking the dark foam from his lips. "Whatever. Finish your coffee; you're always cranky in the mornings." He turned from Peter, rinsing his cup in the sink.

"Yeah," said Peter quietly, while Nathan wasn't looking at him. "I do."

"Good," said Nathan. With a grin he added, "My way, though."

Peter smiled, sighing a little. "That's okay," he answered, "that's the way I like it, usually, anyway."

"I'll be nice."

"You don't have to be." Peter fiddled with his empty cups and the sink, suddenly unable to think coherently. His heart pounded like crazy. Scary? Intense. Memories flooded back to him - the unbearable excitement, the pain that he could take because Nathan believed that he could take it, the moment where it just didn't hurt anymore and then he never wanted to stop. He never wanted to stop.

That was what scared him, more than anything.

"Okay, then I won't. Leave that stuff. Get back upstairs. Go to your room." Nathan's voice came out commanding, authoritative, back in his role as The Man In Charge. He was completely different from the way he had been last night, and Peter thought to himself with glee: _If I didn't fuck him, he'd completely fall apart. My dick in his ass makes his world make sense. His in mine... nothing has ever made sense._

Back in the guest room, Peter was so overwhelmed by what had just transpired - combined with the sudden violent head rush of two double espressos hitting his bloodstream - that he just paced the room with a head full of static, running his hands through his hair. When Nathan came in, shutting the door behind him, he gave an impatient little sigh. "For God's sake, Peter, take your clothes off."

"You do it," Peter murmured, grinning, biting his tongue, not looking at his brother.

"No, you do it. Don't be difficult. I don't know how patient I'm feeling today. In fact," Nathan said, stripping off his own T-shirt, "I know I'm not feeling it. The staff return by one o'clock; they might even show up early. And it's nine o'clock now."

"Really?" said Peter, his head clearing, suddenly returning to himself. That wasn't even close to enough time, even if they'd had more time alone together, last night and this morning, than they'd had for many months. Maybe even a year; maybe even more than a year. "Oh. Okay."

"Yeah. So... it's time for you to give me something to put my mouth on."

He didn't yet have it. "Help me get there," said Peter, drawing Nathan closer, then curling his back against the heat radiating from Nathan's body. Nathan ran his hands up Peter's chest, pinching Peter's nipples and cupping the pectoral muscles in his palms. Peter wanked dry until he couldn't stand that anymore, licked his hand and went back to it. Nathan's hand ran down him again, checking him out, Nathan's fingers testing Peter's hardness, finding it unacceptable and leaving it alone. Peter sniffed with frustration. "I wish you'd just suck it."

Nathan nuzzled the back of Peter's head. "Get it hard and I will."

"That's a lot of... pressure to put on me..."

"Oh, yeah?" Nathan drawled casually, giving Peter's right nipple a hard squeeze, while his left hand gripped Peter's behind tightly, almost hard enough to hurt. Peter gave a quiet yelp, leaning slightly forward, the movement pushing his ass back into Nathan's hand, and Nathan took the opportunity to force Peter even more forward, bending him over at the waist at an slight angle that could never be considered comfortable. Peter lost his balance, and had to fling out an arm to catch himself against the side of the bed, losing his grip on himself. "Pressure?" Nathan purred, moving his hands against Peter's hips, and rocking himself against Peter's ass, bumping his own erection against Peter's tailbone. "It's difficult, huh? C'mon. I'm sure you can do it."

"Ugh - ah - let me up," Peter begged, straightening, then turning and sitting on the edge of the bed. He saw Nathan staring down at his cock, and looked down himself - he had a proper hard-on now, for certain. Peter had no more than a second to notice it before Nathan was on his knees, his shoulders edging Peter's knees open, and his mouth taking Peter in. "Oh shit!... Wait... Nathan... oh... You're going to make me snap..."

Nathan licked and sucked for a moment before he looked up at Peter and spoke. "You don't have to hold back," he said. "It's my fuck. Besides, you're just a kid; you've got a good six, seven pops in you before you run out of steam."

Peter tried to laugh, but he found himself moaning instead. "I'm not a kid..." he sighed, even though he did feel like a kid on a roller coaster, dizzy with adrenaline. Was it just sense-memory of Nathan's mouth, too intense, on him? Or was it the caffeine? Just before Peter would have reached the point of no return, Nathan stopped, gripping the base of Peter's cock hard and keeping his hand still. Peter groaned with a mixture of disappointment and relief as he felt his orgasm held tightly in check. "What happened to not holding back?" he complained.

"You don't have to hold yourself back. I can do whatever I want to you." When Peter responded with a puppy-like whine, Nathan snickered and dropped a quick wet kiss on Peter's lower belly. "You love it, you big faker."

Peter couldn't help smiling. "I do," he agreed, kissing Nathan's hand, then when Nathan took his hand away to go through Peter's overnight bag, Peter kissed his own hand, just to have something to kiss. "I do love it. Love you."

Nathan answered with a vague "Mm-hm," turning Peter onto his side away from him and bending one of Peter's knees up toward his chest. Nathan lubed up his fingers, gently but firmly penetrated Peter with one, pressing deep and so slow that Peter was barely aware of the movement. Peter tensed at first, out of reflex, but quickly found himself relaxing, drifting into the rhythm, then learning it, anticipating it. It was the same rhythm Nathan used to pet Peter to sleep, but it came across so differently here - now it was the opposite of soothing. That slow stroke became more intense, really, than pain. Because it made him want to feel pain. Pain could be withstood, or overcome, or resisted. Peter couldn't do any of those things here, with just a slippery finger sliding back and forth... and he couldn't come, either. Peter tried to touch himself, only to have Nathan gave a quiet warning growl. "No," he said, his finger halting half inside. "I will stop."

"That's mean," Peter mumbled, tucking his clasped hands under his chin. Nathan just chuckled, and slid a second finger in, increasing the pace, roughening his stroke. Peter had to kiss his own hands again.

Nathan chuckled. "You are in so much trouble, young man."

"I know," Peter whispered. "I know. And I'm not sorry."

"Not yet."

Peter looked down at Nathan; Nathan's attention was completely focused on what he was doing, sweat already wetting his temples again and collecting in the hollow at the base of his throat. Gorgeous. Peter muttered desperately, "You... you make all these threats at me, tell me you're going to hurt me, and then you just like... handle me like I'm made out of porcelain. I don't know what I'm supposed to think. I might start to not believe you."

"It'd be nice if it weren't so obvious that you're trying to bait me, Peter."

"Fine... I just want a kiss. Am I in too much trouble to get–" Peter shut up as Nathan bent over him and kissed him furiously, being as rough and overwhelming with his tongue as Peter wanted him to be with his fingers. Nathan gave kisses like this only reluctantly, because it was so hard to stop them. His hot, lube-slicked fingers slid up Peter's back, then back down again, grabbing Peter's bent leg and pushing it even higher up. Without breaking the kiss, Nathan gripped his twitching cock and forced it into Peter's ass, smooth, sudden, and deep, muffling down Peter's startled gasps, drinking them, shoving more of them through Peter's body and into his mouth. Peter had to tear his face away and gulp down oxygen, his arms trapped against his chest. He had been ready - and yet he hadn't. It hurt, but it didn't, but it did; it was perfect.

And before he could even sink into enjoyment of it, Nathan changed it on him, turning him over onto his face, knees touching the floor and his body against the bed, ramming into Peter from behind, animalistic and rough. Hurting a lot, but only for a moment - then it was just amazing. As soon as Peter got used to a position, Nathan changed it again - now Nathan on his back on the floor, Peter on top, still facing away, with nothing protecting him from the combined forces of gravity and Nathan's hips arching off the floor. Peter couldn't even say anything; all rationality had been stripped from him. Now he was just reflex and lust. He tried to explain what was happening to him, but it only emerged as "Guh - guh - buh - fuck - unh!"

"That's right," said Nathan.

Back to doggy-style, Peter facing the floor with his knees tucked under him, Nathan's hand pressing down on the small of his back. Slow, now, but going very deep, plumbing him, seeing how deep he could go. Peter thought that he had already passed the point of possible pain, but he hadn't. "You gonna be good now?" Nathan whispered.

"I promise..."

A smile in Nathan's voice. "Stop being such a grumpy monkey in the mornings?" His hands held Peter's belly and his spine, drawing him in closer, stabbing himself in deeper still, hitting it hard.

Nearly hyperventilating, Peter gasped, "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod I'll be - uh! Oh my God - whatever you want! Whatever you want."

"You just be good," Nathan said, kissing Peter's bent spine between the shoulder blades, "or I will make you sorry."

Peter felt reckless, not done yet, wanting more. "Okay... but I'm not sorry."

"Oh, you want to not play?" Nathan asked, his voice taking on a slight edge. "You know I won't play if you don't want to play. Right?" He slammed with his hips into Peter, grimacing as he hurt them both with it. "You know I won't fuckin' play if we're not playing. You want to be nice to somebody who's got something in your ass, you'd think? You'd want to be polite. You want to be fucking accommodating."

Peter's sweat suddenly ran cold. Too much, for real; scary, for real. He babbled, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding. Please. I'm sorry."

"I don't believe you," Nathan said. "Get on the bed."

Nathan slid out, and sat back on his heels lubing himself up more, and Peter crawled back to the bed and lay on it, face down. Nathan joined him momentarily, and took him by the shoulder to turn him over, looking into Peter's eyes. Peter looked shattered, half-insane, bliss and anxiety battling for dominance. Nathan didn't have a trace of anger or cruelty in his expression; he looked more like he was ready to cry. Peter stretched his neck up to kiss Nathan on the mouth, brief, solid, comforting, opening his legs, sighing as Nathan settled himself between them. Nathan pushed Peter's knees up, and slid deep inside him again, moaning at the same time, in the same voice, as Peter. Together, in rhythm again, shutting the world outside.

They didn't often fuck face to face; it was both too awkward and too perfect. They could look at each other, watch each other, acknowledge what they were doing with each other. They could kiss; those endless, frightening kisses, or fast, brotherly smacks: _I'm here. It's okay._

This morning, there were no kisses, and no gazing into each other's eyes. They had already gone past the safe point. He'd hit a nerve in Nathan; that was the delicacy of the dance, to see how far they could take it without tripping the breaker, and clumsy, greedy Peter had gone too far, just like he always did. There were lots of nerves to hit. Too many. Everyone considered Peter the fragile one, when, instead, Nathan was a minefield of post-traumatic stress.

Without even knowing what he was doing until it was too late, Nathan had sounded just like Dad. Eerily, exactly like Dad, yelling down the phone at some mobster or other who had fucked something up, who would end up erased. Something awful; something forbidden and secret and overheard, and that monster could never go back into the cage, once it had gotten out. Shared memories, overlapping individual memories. That cold fear of _We have something terrible to hide that we can't ever talk about to other people. But that's who we are_.

It brought back the memory of Peter and Nathan's first time together, the first time it was for real and not just horsing around; brought back how scary and wonderful and essential it was. How much it still was. How amazingly fucked up they both were.

But here and now... Nathan had his hands full, keeping Peter's legs in position, and Peter could now touch his dick, when he could, when Nathan's belly wasn't brushing against it. Nathan eyes were closed, his mouth open, rivulets of sweat running down his temples. Peter realized that he had been holding himself back; even more astonishingly, he had been able to. Nathan licked his lips, his breath escaping in a shudder, and Peter couldn't hold back anymore. He arched himself up off the bed, crying out, and Nathan didn't even slow down. Peter's semen pulsed out, up toward his navel. And then Nathan pulled out, slid down the bed, hurriedly licked up most of the come, then thrust himself back inside again.

Peter began to laugh, all tension and fear vanished. "Oh my God, you're so insane," he said.

Nathan slipped his tongue into Peter's mouth, moving his head from side to side, rubbing smears of spunk off his own face onto Peter's. "May I remind you that I'm still fucking you?" Nathan asked archly.

"I know, I know... Be nice."

Nathan laughed too, throwing back his head, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, God," he said conversationally, like he was actually talking to God. "Do I come on his face? Do I come on his tits? Do I make him gag on it? I don't know. What does Peter want?"

"Uh... don't make me gag on it," Peter said, knowing that Nathan absolutely would. Maybe next time, when things weren't so weird. "Why don't you come in your hand, like a normal American?"

"But then I can't humiliate you," Nathan teased.

"Don't come in my hair, either."

"I have never come in your hair. Not on purpose."

Peter sneered at Nathan, then slid backward, breaking their connection; then had to go back for a moment, bringing them together again, all the way deep, and it didn't hurt in the slightest. He didn't want to be done but his desire to watch Nathan come had become overwhelming. He grasped Nathan's slippery cock in his hand and began to jack Nathan off. Nathan sighed with pleasure, but took over doing it himself almost immediately. "You want something done right..." he murmured, and then squinted his eyes shut, a sharp spasm seizing his entire body and pale jets of come landing all over Peter's lower belly, almost exactly the way they had the night before.

Peter idly rubbed it into his skin, watching Nathan's eyelashes flutter and his abdominal muscles contract into tight bands. "You don't eat your own, huh," Peter said.

"No," said Nathan, opening his eyes. "I only eat yours."

"I'll never understand why."

Nathan didn't look at Peter as he sat back. "Because I'm dirty," he said, a little regretfully. It was his bad luck that it came out sounding impossibly sexy.

"I'm glad you're dirty. 'Cos I'm dirty, too, right?"

"Yeah. You're dirty too." Nathan glanced across the room. "But it's five minutes to twelve. We should get cleaned up. And change these sheets."

Peter only took a moment to be impressed that they'd managed to screw around for almost three hours straight, and without breakfast, at that. Quickly, he was on his feet, acting in concert with Nathan, straightening up the room, making it look as much as possible that nothing had ever happened in there. They had practiced this skill for more than ten years, and by now they were as good at it as mafia crime-scene cleaners.

They doubled up on a fast shower, didn't touch or bother each other while they were in; they had to get into practice being ordinary. Peter finished first, and was to the kitchen making a sandwich before Nathan was dressed. White shirt, tailored slacks, loafers, hair artfully parted and brushed; Peter smirked at this vision of perfection. At least Nathan wasn't wearing a tie; this was Saturday, after all. "Should I get out of here?" Peter asked.

"No, it's okay if you want to stick around. I've got to go in to work by three; I'll give you a lift back into town." When Peter didn't answer, Nathan came up and rested his hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's okay. You have an excuse to be here. You're my brother. It's cool."

Peter sniffed and nodded for a long time, finally meeting Nathan's eyes and smiling. "That's right," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Ritual Reader's Guide: to come


End file.
